


The Brothers of the United Kingdom

by PurrV



Category: Hetalia: Axis Powers
Genre: Ancient History, Angst, Family Drama, Gen, Minor Violence
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-08-03
Updated: 2018-08-14
Packaged: 2019-06-21 10:15:55
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death
Chapters: 11
Words: 12,563
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15555528
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/PurrV/pseuds/PurrV
Summary: A tale of how England and his older brothers became the United Kingdom, from the death of their mother Brittania, to the wars they clashed against each. A unique look at the history of the UK through they eyes of their Country’s.





	1. Chapter 1

Prologue 

Year - 55 BC

Rome had seen many lands in his conquest of the world, but as he gazed upon the shore of this new country, he could not help but feel like he was about to witness something he had yet to see. For starters it was wet, terribly wet, as if being surrounded by the sea wasn’t enough it seemed to constantly rain, and it was supposed to be the dry season. The land was wild and desperately needed some civilisation to tame it, a few roads here and a couple of cities there, and Rome could make a home out of this place yet.

Still, as he jumped from his boat, walked along the sandy coast and stepped into the damp grasslands, he had to pause and inhale the foreign air around him. It had a chill to it as it filled his lungs and he could smell strange but sweet scents that even Ancient Egypt would want to wear as perfume. The trees in nearby woodland were tall and sturdy, excellent material to craft new ships for his ongoing conquest. Yes, this land was perfect and deserved to be part of the Roman Empire.

“Can you smell that!?” He called out to his fellow Romans, “the smell of a new world, and it’s all ours!”

The faithful centurions seemed on edge and didn’t quite share their Country’s enthusiasm. “The Gauls informed us of the tribes that dwell upon this land,” said one of them.

“Utterly savage they are,” said another, “probably make the barbarians we faced before look civilised.”

Rome was aware of this too but it did nothing to faze him. “We came here to conquer and if it means we have to spill some barbarian blood then so be it.” He turned towards the land that stretched out before him, his glorious scarlet cloak dancing upon the gentle breeze. “...and if we’re lucky, we might meet some beautiful barbarian maidens.”

That last comment made the centurions laugh, all aware of their Country’s one tracked mind, and it was enough to boost their morale. Why should they fear whatever lived in this savage place, they were Romans and already half the world was theirs. They marched onward, delving deeper into the land. Soon the sea was far behind them and as they marched further inland the more they saw of this untamed land.

Rome continued to look on ahead, admiring the strange beauty of the wilderness around him. He desperately wanted to see it all but he knew they needed to set up a camp first. He men were thinking the same thing as one of them asked, “where would be the best place to set up the camp sir?”

“Well there is plenty of woodland around here,” stated Rome, “we just need to find a spot we can-“

Rome stopped dead in his tracks, his men following suit almost immediately.

Before they could even ask why he had stopped, Rome suddenly raised his shield and the split second he brought up to defend himself, an axe suddenly collided with it with a loud THUNK. The centurions immediately got into a defensive stand, raising their own shields and readying their spears.

Rome dared to peek over his shield but the dense woodland up ahead made it hard to see who had attacked him. Inspecting the weapon that had lodged deep into his shield, he was impressed to see how deep it had cut into it. Whoever threw that axe at him had a strong arm, any stronger and it would’ve smashed through his shield.

Ripping the axe off of his shield, he bravely called out to his attacker, “you know, it’s not nice to greet people this way.” He then threw the axe back, the sharp weapon burying itself into a thick tree. “You could at least make your presence known to us before attacking us.”

For a moment there was silence but then there was movement, followed by a voice.

“Ah don’t care fur strangers coming into mah land.”

Rome searched for the source of the voice, his hand on his sword just in case. “Come out,” he demanded, more curious than anything to know who dared challenged him. He didn’t have to wait long and someone came before him, emerging from the woodland like a ghost, ripping the axe out the tree like it was nothing. As his attacker stood before him, Rome could not help but be transfixed by his attacker.

Hair that was as red and as wild as a fire.

Eyes that were as blue and savage as the sea.

Skin that was as pale as fresh but bitter snow.

His attacker was not just any barbarian who struck at him for the hell of it, but a strangely fair battle maiden, who stood before him with an aura of pride he had never experienced before in any land outside of his country.

Rome had fallen for many beautiful women, he fell for Ancient Egypt and fell for Ancient Greece, but this creature before him was something else. She was roughly his height, her hair was plaited in some areas but the rest was loose and free. Her eyebrows were oddly thick but they seemed to bring out the beauty of her sapphire eyes. She wore a decorated tunic over her messy robes and wore jewellery that made of wood and other strange materials. She seemed to be the very definition of wild and untamed, and even though she was clearly outnumbered she showed not one ounce of fear.

Rome could not help but be enchanted.

“Yoo’re Rome, aren’t ye? Gaul warned me abit ye,” sneered the battle maiden, raising her axe so it rested upon her shoulders.

Upon hearing the name of the last Country he conquered, Rome realised that this was no ordinary battle maiden.

“To whom do I owe the pleasure?” asked Rome in the most charming voice he could muster.

The battle maiden grinned, showing off her white teeth.

“I’m Britannia.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Britannia - So I recently found out that Himaruya did mention Brittania being the mother of England, Scotland, Ireland and Wales and that she’s really similar to England in personality, stuborn and hostile (which is actually how I pictured her anyway)
> 
> 55BC - This was when the Romans came to invade Britain, though it took them over a century to get it under their control.


	2. Chapter One

Chapter One

Year - 44 AD

Rome yawned as he stretched out his sore muscles. How long had this been going on? Nearly a century had passed and he yet to beat Britannia, the woman was as stubborn as she was beautiful. It didn’t take him that long to conquer Gaul so why was beating Britannia so damn hard?

“If only I had soldiers like her,” he mused, “I would’ve won decades ago.”

“Or maybe if you weren’t too busy flirting with her every time you cross swords,” came a voice.

Looking over his shoulder Rome saw Germania standing nearby, his usual scowl decorated his stern face and his muscular arms folded across his broad chest.

“I can’t help myself,” chuckled Rome as he scratched his head, “she’s like a rose, beautiful but with thorns ready to cut you.”

Germania rolled his eyes. “Ironic that you actually gave her roses once,” he muttered.

Rome laughed as he recalled that moment. “Yes, and she punched me in the jaw and called me bloody idiot.”

“I also heard she had the faerie folk curse you,” scoffed Germania, “she lived among them for centuries, and apparently the blood of Queen Titania flows through her veins.”

Rome merely shrugged. “As if a mere curses or two can stop me.”

Germania sighed and rubbed his brow in confused frustration. “Why are you still trying to woo her when every time you two meet, she screams at how she’s going to place your head on a pike?”

“Her anger only makes her beauty shine even more,” chuckled Rome, “come on Germania, even you can’t deny that you’d want to bed her?”

Germania blushed and turned his head away from Rome. “L-look you can woo her all you want but we both know how this going to end.” Germania looked back at Rome, his blue eyes now expressing his seriousness. “Britannia won’t surrender, she’ll die before she allows that to happen.”

Rome smiled sadly. “Yeah... as much as I would want her to live and thrive, I know she won’t willingly kneel before me.” Stretching once more, Rome fell onto the ground and stared up into the blue sky. “She reminds me of a lion.”

“A lion?” repeated Germania.

“A ferocious beast full of pride,” explained Rome, “and would protect their cubs from any threat no matter what.”

“So... you met them then?” queried Germania.

“I’ve been fighting her for nearly a hundred years Germania, and during that time I learned why she fights so dam hard,” replied Rome, “and if it were me I’d be fighting just as hard. After all what kind of lion would she be if she didn’t protect her cubs?”

50 years earlier 

“AH DON’T WANT YER BLOODY ROSES YE BASTARD!” screamed Britannia, her fist smacking against Rome’s jaw.

Rome staggered back, neither offended or overjoyed. He was actually kind of expecting this reaction from Britannia.

“Come now Britannia, I just have to have you,” he proclaimed, “you’re the fairest maiden this far north I ever met!”

Britannia shook with rage and her pale cheeks burned a furious shade of red. “As if I’d ever git together wi' th' likes of ye!” She then crushed her own knuckles and gritted her teeth. “Now piss off ye idiot!”

Rome was not one to back down so easily. “You can’t deny you don’t have any feelings for me,” he teased, “we’ve been fighting for nearly half a century and during that time you must’ve developed some sort of attraction towards-“

“SHE DOESN’T LIKE YOU, YOU TWAT!”

“AYE, SO PISS OFF!”

“SHE’LL KICK YER ARSE TO ROME AND BACK!”

“GIT ‘EM MA!”

Rome was taken aback by the surprise outburst and looked around. Britannia scowled even more and looked towards a nearby oak tree. “Whit have ah told ye lot about sneakin' on tae a battlefield? Git oot ‘ere right now!”

For a moment nothing happened and Britannia raised her voice. “AH SAID, RIGHT NOW!”

Almost immediately four small figures jumped out from behind the tree. Rome was shocked to see four young lads, each one looking different yet similar and all of them bearing a striking resemblance to Britannia. One of them was quite tall with red locks and an oddly cheery face, another one was just as tall as the last one with messy brown hair and a scowl that would even scare Germania. Another had light brown hair that was surprisingly neat and yet he bore a mischievous grin and the last one, who appeared to be the youngest, had messy golden hair and seemed both timid and curious.

Britannia stomped towards them, completely ignoring Rome, and smacked all four of them over the head. “Ah told ye tae stay home,” she snapped.

“We wanted tae make sure that lofty bastard would leave ye alone,” proclaimed the mischievous one.

“Aye ma, let me kick his arse,” demanded the one with the scowl.

Britannia snacked the one with the scowl again. “Ah told ye to watch over yer brothers,” she snapped.

The one with messy golden hair suddenly clutched Britannia’s leg. “Don’t leave us for him, ma,” he wailed.

Britannia seemed to instantly calm down upon the crying youth and she scooped him up. “What gave ye a crazy idea like that?” she laughed, “ah’d never leave ye fur that tosser.”

“B-but Wales said you might,” whimpered the youth in her arms, tears forming in his emerald eyes.

Britannia’s rage turned back on and she glared at the mischievous one, “WALES! What have ah told ye about teasing yer brother!”

“Scotland made meh do it!”

“Ah did not!”

“Ye said it was the only way to git him to come wit’ us!”

“Ireland came up with it, not me!”

“No ah didn’t yer lying prick!”

“It ain’t ma fault England’s such a crybaby!”

“ENOUGH!” barked Britannia, the four youths instantly falling silent. She then handed the one in her arms to the scowling one. “Git home right now! We’ll discuss this over dinner!”

“Aye ma,” said all four boys in a unified deflated tone, scuttling off through the tall grass and deep into the woods.

Although he knew he could’ve used the opportunity to strike at Britannia, Rome was instead awe struck that not only was this woman a ferocious warrior but was also a strict mother. He could only sit and watch as the four boys vanished from sight with Britannia watching them. It’d seemed like she had forgotten all about the powerful county set on conquering her was sitting not too far away from her.

“A warrior and a mother,” laughed Rome, “you’re just full of surprises!”

Britannia turned to face him and gave him her signature sneer. “Ye better watch yer back Rome, ‘cause they’ll be kickin’ yer arse once they grow big and strong.” There seemed to be a hint of pride in her words. “Ma dear Scotland has tamed wild unicorns and ma little Wales has mastered the bow. Ma sweet Ireland has the voice of an angel and ma wee England is loved by the fairy folk. Aw, they’re ma pride and joy.”

It was almost comedic that Britannia had dropped her guard and was now acting like the most blessed mother in the world. “They didn’t seem to like me very much,” chuckled Rome.

“Of course they don’t,” snapped Britannia, “all they talk about is beating the shite outta of ye. As much as ah would love tae see that, they’re too young tae join me in battle.”

“Oh I don’t know, that angry one looked keen for a fight,” retorted Rome as he stood back up. “Maybe he and I can spar for-“

Britannia moves so fast that Rome barely had the chance to reach for his sword. He soon found himself face to face with the scariest pair of eyes he had ever seen.

“Ye go anywhere near ma boys and I’ll cut ye up so bad yer own men wouldn’t recognise yer,” she hissed.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> 44 AD - This chapter takes place a year before Rome finally conquered Britain.
> 
> Roses - According to history the Romans brought roses to Britain. They are now the National Flower for England.
> 
> Lofty - For those who might not know, Lofty is what the Welsh call tall people. I imagine Wales being the shortest of the brothers so he would often call them Lofties.
> 
> Britannia’s accent - I’m really not good at writing accents but I imagine Britannia having a mix between Welsh, Irish and Scottish with a hint of English. I should point out the English language was formed out of lot of languages including Latin.
> 
> Unicorn - The Unicron is the animal that represents Scotland.
> 
> Lion - In case some of you might not know, Britannia is known to have a lion at her feet and the beast is a part of the British coat of arms.


	3. Chapter Two

Chapter Two

45 AD

Scotland scrambled through the grass, the new born sun making his hair look like it was on fire. In the distance he saw his mother, standing over her marching troops as they prepared to face Rome once again.

“Ma!” He cried out.

Britannia looked over he shoulders, her face covered in war paint. It made her look even more terrifying, but to Scotland she was still his loving mother. “Whit are ye doing here Scotland? Ah told ye ta watch over yer brothers.”

Skidding to a halt before his mother, Scotland could only stare up at her with worry. Although he would never admit it out loud, he always feared that every time she went to battle she’d never come back. Over the past century he had always made certain to see his mother off and ask the faeries to watch over her and not once did he fail to do so, only now on that cold morning did Scotland feel something ominous about this day.

“Yoo’re gonnae kick his arse again, right ma?” He fidgeted a little and rubbed his pale arms.

Britannia smirked and kneel down to pinch his cheeks. “Aw ma wee little weed,” she cooed, “you always were a softie.”

“Ma!” Scotland swatted her hands away as his cheeks burned with embarrassment.

“Don’t ye fret ma sweet thistle,” reassured Britannia as she stood back up and planted her hands on her hips. “If ah beat him once ah can beat again and again. Then I’ll come home and cook ye favourite!”

The words seemed to have worked and Scotland didn’t seem so uneasy now, his eyes now gleaming with eagerness and pride. “Ye mean offal an’ oats with neeps and tatties!?”

“Aye, though we really need ta give it a better name than that,” chuckled Britannia. She then scooped her son up and nuzzled his face, the young boy giggling and trying to push her away.

“Ma, yoo’re getting yer war paint on me,” he chortled.

Britannia then hugged him tight and looked towards the rising sun. Out of all of her sons Scotland was the strongest and most resilient. She knew that he was going to be a great country and a fine warrior... but something deep down told her she was never going to see that. It was something that nagged her for some time now, ever since her conversation with her own mother.

_5 years ago_

_“I just need ye to promise me ma, that ye will watch over them just in case.” Britannia sighed heavily, her warm breath forming a cool mist. The dark woodland around her was deathly silent, apart from her voice but it was like she was in a whole other world. “This Rome bastard is strong, and ah hate to admit it but ah don’t know how long ah can hold out.”_

_Britannia looked up at her mother, the great queen of the faeries, Titania. She was old as the world itself and as wise as any creature upon this Earth, and was the fairest creature in the faerie kingdom. Her magic was strong and even though she had her blood coursing through her veins, Britannia’s own magic paled in comparison. Titania hovered above the ground and yet her wings had not once fluttered, though her long silver hair danced in the still air. Her subjects watched from a distance, not wanting to interfere with their Queen’s talk with her daughter._

_“It is to be expected,” said Titania, her expression seeming serious yet sad. “Your time is coming to an end, sweet Britannia.”_

_Britannia sighed. “Ah didn’t come to hear about ma demise mother.”_

_“I mean the time of what will be known as the ancient counties,” explained Titania, “Gaul has perished and soon her son will rise in her place. It will come to pass for you and it will even come to pass for Rome. All will perish and in their place new countries will rise, some with old names and others with new names.”_

_Although she wasn’t overly keen to hear the future, Britannia needed to know one thing. “Will ma boys be alright?”_

_Titania was silent for a moment. “Upon your passing there will be a divide. Scotland will thrive in the north in the highlands, Wales to the east near the sea and Ireland further east on the emerald island.” There was silence once again._

_“And what of England?” demanded Britannia._

_Titania now seemed sad. “He will wander in his own land, alone and isolated. 900 years will pass and in that time strangers from the far west and from the south will plague him. He will suffer.”_

_Upon hearing this Britannia almost lost her footing. Her sweet innocent England was doomed to a millennia of suffering and torment? “That can’t be true,” she choked, “surely his brothers will-“_

_“-abandon him,” finished Titania._

_Britannia could not believe it. Her sons shared an unbreakable bond, one that she believed that not even Rome could crush. To hear that her own sons would abandon one of their own was ludicrous. “They wouldn’t dare,” she barked, “England is young and innocent! He looks up to them and they all love him. They would never leave him!”_

_Titania sighed. “Your sweet England will gain strength after 900 years have passed,” she continued, “he will endure trials against invaders and within himself. As he grows he will gain power and will then conquer his brothers.”_

_“W-what?”_

_“First Wales, and then Ireland, and then he’ll wage war against Scotland for years to come. Scotland will never submit and England will never give up. Their wars against each other will stain their lands with blood of thousands. England will continue to grow until he becomes a beast, a beast feared by the whole world.”_

_“Enough...”_

_“He will slay an empire, defy a god, conquer other countries and in time he’ll create a nation in your name and an empire far greater than Rome’s.”_

_“ENOUGH MOTHER!”_

_Britannia fell to her knees and wept. How could such a terrible future come to pass with her beloved children right in the centre of it? Her precious England only cared for playing with the faeries and making wreaths of flowers to decorate her head, how could he become a monster?_

_Titania then knelt before he daughter and cradled her. “Do not fear,” she promised, “I will eventually be forgotten but I will always watch over them long after you’re gone. Your sons will clash with one another, this is certain, but the union they are bound to will grow into a bond they cannot break, even if they tried.”_

Britannia didn’t want to believe her mother but Titania was usually never wrong. She nuzzled her son’s scarlet hair, not wanting to believe he would abandon his own brother. As a mother she believed her sons will love each other always... but as a country she knew that it wasn’t always that simple.

“Scotland, can ye promise me something?”

“Aye ma,” responded Scotland, “whit tis it?”

Britannia placed Scotland back on the ground, knelt do they were eye level and clutched his hands tight. “Promise me ye will watch over yer brothers. No matter what happens, look after yer brothers.”

Scotland merely smiled and said, “Ah promise ma.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Weed/Thistle - The Thistle, which is a weed, is the flower that represents Scotland.
> 
> Offal and Oats - This is haggis, with offal being entrails of a sheep. Haggis wasn’t actually invented for another few hundred years and apparently the recipe came from England... it always seems Scottish to me. Neeps and Tatties are swede and potatoes.
> 
> Titania - I mentioned her before but I thought that it would be neat if she was England’s grandmother so it’s not canon. If you watch the Ancient Magnus Bride then you’ll know that she is the Queen of the Faeries.
> 
> Britan and England - Britan is what the Romans called the land after they conquered it. England didn’t come about for another 500 years after the Romans left.
> 
> Gaul and France - Before it became France the land had many names and different tribes, though the fandom seems set on Gaul.
> 
> The accuracy of history in this fic - I’m going to try and be as accurate as I can but if you see something amiss, please do not be afraid to correct me! :)


	4. Chapter Three

Chapter Three 

50 AD

Sitting in the gardens of his newly built villa, Rome stared up in the heavens lost in his own thoughts. It had been five years since he finally claimed the land of Britain and his people were thriving in their newly built cities and taming the wilderness to suit their needs. All of the barbarians had fled far to the north and to the east, to lands that Rome knew he would had difficulty conquering. Maybe in a few hundred years he would venture up north and take them, but for now he was content with what he had gained... at least he mostly was.

“My Empire, you look troubled.”

Rome looked up to see someone he hadn’t seen in a long time. “If it isn’t my beautiful Greece,” proclaimed Rome as he stood to his feet.

The fair Greece gracefully walked through the garden, her brunette locks glistening in the sunlight. She held out her hand for Rome to clasp and kiss. “You haven’t changed I see,” she chuckled.

“I’ve gotten stronger though,” retorted Rome with a grin, “with this land under my control I’ve gained new strength.”

Greece suddenly placed a hand upon Rome’s cheek. “And yet you seem upset?”

Rome knew he couldn’t hide anything from her. He took her hand and walked with her through the gardens. Greece could not help but carefully pluck a rose, bringing it up to her nose so she could inhale the sweet scent. “You regret ending her life?”

“I came to conquer and I did,” answered Rome.

“So why did you allow your people to revere her as a goddess?”

Rome looked down. “I don’t want them to forget her. Out of all the warriors I fought, she left such an impression on me. Right down till the end she fought for her freedom. I had hoped she would’ve joined my Empire.”

Greece smiled sweetly. “And what of her young?”

“They left far to the north and east,” sighed Rome, “they’re probably going to come and try to avenge her at some point.”

“It won’t happen,” stated Greece.

“Oh? You believe so?”

“I know so.”

It wasn’t hard to convince him of that, when she wasn’t lounging in her gardens or getting drunk off wine, Greece could see things that had yet to happen. It wasn’t always clear though but sometimes she was able to make sense of her visions.

“So they’re going to avoid me at all costs?” queried Rome.

Greece shook her head and closed her eyes. “I see four lion cubs, cowering around the corpse of their fallen mother. In time these cubs will start their journeys to become strong, but the runt of the litter will be left all alone. It will try to follow it’s stronger brothers but they will reject him. The runt will wander a wasteland beset with wolves and bears, he will be hunted and tormented.”

She paused to place the rose she had plucked in an empty vase. “The runt should’ve died, but it doesn’t. It begins to grow stronger. With every battle he grows and grows into a terrible beast. The scars it receives will only increase it’s desire to become stronger. It will then hunt it’s brothers, dominating them one by one. Then he’ll venture out of his territory and hunt other beasts until it’ll be the most fearsome beast in the world.”

Greece then looked up at Rome and gave him a sad but sweet smile. “You have unwittingly set in motion the war of the brothers, my dear Rome.”

———————

Staring down at the city the Romans had built, Scotland could do nothing but clench his fists in bitter rage. He wanted to run down there and ram a sword through each and every one of them, but he knew he wasn’t strong enough to go up against them. He hated knowing he was weaker than the monster who killed his mother, he hated knowing he couldn’t avenge her.

“If only ah wasn’t so... weak,” he sobbed, desperately trying to keep the tears from falling.

The moment he and his brothers learned that their mother had fallen, Scotland was filled with a blind rage. Ireland had to hold him back and Wales desperately convinced him that they had to flee. All England could do was cry.

As the days passed and their grieving continued, Scotland began to ponder on their future. Already their mothers people were fleeing to lands where the Romans could not reach them, to lands that seemed to call out to them. Their mother had told them that because of what they were, they’ll eventually become the living persona of their own country, a being that the people of their land will look to, not as a leader but as their land’s voice and heart.

At first Scotland had foolishly believed that he and his brothers would grow into countries that would stand together no matter what, but that day his mother fell he came to realise an awful truth; only strong countries can survive in this cruel world. Rome was strong, he had to admit that and the only way he could stand up against him was to grow even stronger.

He stared down at the city one last time before turning back towards where his brothers were hiding. They had taken refuge in a small cave for now and upon entering Scotland found them all asleep. Both England and Wales had snuggled up against Ireland, all sleeping soundly as if nothing bad had happened to them.

Scotland looked to Ireland. He was just as strong as him, for now and Scotland knew that he would thrive in this world. He then looked to Wales. He may appear meek and short but he was quick and smart, in time he would become strong too.

He then looked to England.

He was so small, so weak. In the years that had passed he yet to show any kind of strength and remained tiny. He always looked to his older brothers for protection and for a time Scotland did not mind at all... but now things were different. As things stood now he doubted England could defend himself against anyone or anything.

It made Scotland feel pity... no, not pity...

Disgust.

**Two days later**

“Then we agree?” Scotland looked back and forth between Ireland and Wales, his two brothers appearing troubled with what they were discussing.

“It’s fur the best,” sighed Ireland, running his hand through his messy brown hair.

Wales nodded in agreement but still looked unsure. “If we’re to survive then we must do this, our people need us now more than ever. It’s just...”

Both Ireland and Wales looked over at where England was still sleeping. Scotland realised that they were having second thoughts and there was no time to dwell on such trivial matters anymore. 

“We are countries,” he declared, “and our people need us tae be strong. We can’t rely on each other nor protect the weakest.”

Wales shifted a little. “Aye, but England is so weak and-“

“If he’s weak then he’ll die,” stated Scotland, no hint of emotion upon his words.

These words shocked both Wales and Ireland but they were slowly starting to accept the truth. Only the strong could dominate this world, the weak would fall and perish. They had to accept this. It didn’t take long for his two capable brothers to admit that they had to separate and become stronger... even if it meant that one day they’ll be enemies.

Without even alerting their little brother of their intentions, the three older country’s walked their separate paths, to their lands where their people awaited them.

Scotland walked straight north, far from the eyes of Rome. The highlands up there would be his advantage and aid in his growth. Ireland headed far east and Wales followed but planned to remain near the south as much as he could. This was acceptable and Scotland believed they would grow strong. 

England however... Scotland doubted he would survive.

“Scotland!”

Scotland flinched when he heard his name uttered by a familiar voice.

“Scotland, wait for me!”

Looking over his shoulder, he grimaced when he spotted England desperately trying to catch up with him. He must’ve woken up and gone off looking for them when he realised he was alone. Scotland tried walking faster but England eventually caught up with him and clung to his legs.

“Scotland,” wailed the small country, “I woke up and you were gone! I can’t find Wales and I can’t find Ireland... b-but I found you! We can look for them together-“

Without so much as a warning, Scotland viciously kicked England away. The poor thing fell into a puddle of mud and stared up at him with eyes full of tears and bewilderment. “W-why did you k-kick me?”

“Git lost,” barked Scotland.

He turned to walk away but England scrambled up and once again grabbed onto his brother. “Scotland please! Don’t leave me,” he begged.

Scotland cringed as he felt a pang of pain formed from regret in his heart, but this was how it had to be. Once again he kicked England away from him but this time he strode over and pinned him down in the mud.

“Ye disgust me,” he spat, glaring into the terrified green eyes of his brother, “ye disgust Ireland and ye disgust Wales! We’ve decided we’re gonna grow into strong countries, but yer so damn weak it makes us sick!” He slammed England against the mud and continued to scream at him. “It makes me sick we share the same blood! We no longer want anything tae do with ye, so if ye dare follow any of us we’ll kill ye!”

England trembled in fear and was now trying to scramble away from Scotland. To make certain his threat remained clear Scotland pulled out a knife. The moment he eyed the blade, England cried out in fear and fled.

“And If ye dare come anywhere near me or the others ah’ll gut ye myself!” Scotland watched as England vanished into the woods, his loud sobs echoing through the cold air and through Scotland’s own heart.

Putting his blade away Scotland continued his trek to the north and tried to ignore his heavy heart. This was for the best. This was the only way.

“Forgive me mother.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Greeks in Britain - After Rome conquered Britain, the Greeks also came for trade.
> 
> Mother Greece - I don’t know much about her but as my own personal canon I made it so she was an oracle of sorts.
> 
> The goddess Britannia - The Romans had a habit of integrating foreign gods into their own pantheon. Upon conquering Britan they came up with the goddess of Britan who wielded a trident and shield.


	5. Chapter Four

Chapter Four

405 AD

Rome wanted to walk through the countryside one last time before he had to depart. With barbarians attacking his other settlements he had no choice but to abandon Britain to defend his home. He thought back to what Egypt had told him, that their time was coming to an end. She was to leave her country to her son, just as Greece was planning to do. Rome knew that in time he would have to leave Rome to his grandsons but until that day came he was going to continue fighting until the end... she had taught him that.

“Oh Britannia,” he sighed, “I fought you for this land and now I have to abandon it.”

He stood upon a hill and stared out into the vast green that made up most of this country. He hoped that even after he was gone, it would continue to thrive. Britannia was no more but her sons were still alive, Rome was certain of this.

“Maybe one day I’ll come back and- WOAH!”

Rome stumbled after tripping over something but managed to prevent himself from falling flat on his face. He looked down at what caused him to loose his balance and found it was an out of place root. He traced the root back to the tree from which it grew from and something near the base of the large tree caught his attention.

At the base of the tree was a large thorn bush and within that thorn bush, with the twisted branches twisted around his small body, was a small child.

Stepping closer Rome gasped out loud for he recognised the child. 400 years had passed but he still remembered that small body, now sitting and hugging himself as the thorns twisted around his body.

“I know you!” said Rome aloud, reaching down and pulling the small child from the thorns, the branches snapping as he was pulled free. “You’re Britannia’s boy!”

He held up the child but the poor thing barely looked at him. His green eyes were lifeless and he barely moved in Rome’s grasp. Concerned, Rome gave him a little shake. “Hey come now, where are your brothers?”

Upon uttering that word the child flinched and finally looked up at Rome. Then those emerald eyes filled with tears and he wailed loudly, so loud Rome almost dropped him. In an attempt to soothe him Rome rocked him in his arms and patted his back, uttering calming words that he used on his own grandson.

“They hate me!” wailed the child in a strained voice. “They hate me, they hate me!”

“Who hates you?” Rome was confused.

The child tried to stifle his sobbing but the tears he unleashed had been held in for far too long and he couldn’t stop them. “My brothers! They told me I disgust them!” 

Rome sighed and continued to try and comfort him. It took many days until at long last the small child finally began to calm down, his eyes and cheeks red and sore from his endless tears. Rome sat with him, patting him on the back and offering him his cape to wipe his tears. He knew he had to return home soon but he felt responsible for the small child,

Even after the child had calmed down, he refused to speak to Rome and that was something the ancient country could understand. So he continued to wait and wait. The sun rose and set many times until at long Last the child spoke.

“Why am I weak?”

Rome wanted to understand what the child meant by that. “Who says you’re weak?”

“My brothers,” replied the boy, “they left me because I’m weak. They threatened to kill me if I go anywhere near them.” The tears started to come back. “If I was strong would they love me again? I-I don’t want to be weak. I w-want to be s-strong like them and then they love m-me again.”

The child cried once more and Rome places his large hand upon that messy golden hair. “I started out weak,” he confessed, “If you want to be strong then you’ll have to endure. Learn from your battles. Learn from your scars. In time I’m certain you’ll become a strong country.”

The child sniffled. “How long will it take?”

“It will take time,” answered Rome honestly, “it could take years, even centuries, but if you’re determined enough I know you’ll turn into something great.” Rome then stood up, his time in this land was coming to a close. “Who knows, maybe you and I will wage war against each other one day.”

The child sniffled once again and rubbed his eyes. “Will that make my brothers love me again?”

Rome frowned. “I can’t answer that.” That answer didn’t exactly lift the child’s spirit so Rome knelt down and patted his head once again. “You’re a son of Britannia, remember that. Your time will come.”

With that said Rome took his leave, secretly hoping that the child would grow into a fine country.

522 years later - 927 AD

Staggering through the wet grass, little England huffed and winced as he desperately tried to pry the arrows from his sore limbs. He collapsed and coughed up blood, sobbing as the pain was taking its toll.

Half a century had passed since Rome left and during that time England was at the mercy of invaders. First the Saxons and then the Vikings, all of them just as terrible and strong as Rome. A new country named Denmark came and invaded his land, and another known as France came and taunted him. Fearing their savagery and cruelty England remained hidden but they came and hunted him down anyway.

When he heard that Scotland had repelled them like they were nothing and Ireland had fought them off, England desperately wandered into their lands to ask for aid against these invaders. He hoped that after all the years that had passed they would finally welcome with open arms.

However that was not the case.

The last time England saw Scotland his head barely made it past his waist. When England saw him again he had grown into a tall and strong man. England cowered before him, hoping Scotland would take pity but Scotland merely sneered and held his sword at the young boy’s throat.

“Ah told ye not tae come anywhere near me,” growled Scotland.

“P-please,” sobbed England, “Denmark is too strong.”

“Ah fought the bastard off as did Ireland. He didn’t even go near Wales out of fear, but you can’t even push him away!?” Scotland turned his back on his little brother. “I’m giving ye tae the count of three, and if yer still there I’ll ram my sword through yer guts!”

England squeaked and ran off as fast as his legs could carry him.

He tried calling out to Ireland but he ignored him. He tried calling out to Wales but he sent him away without a care. As England returned to his small cave where he had hid for all these years, he realise how utterly alone he was. He wanted to cry but didn’t out of fear France or Denmark would hear him. All he could do was hug himself as the heavy rain outside lulled him to sleep. In his sleep he would dream of the days he and his brothers would play in the woods. How Scotland would carry him when he was tired. When Ireland would sing him to sleep. When Wales would show him little tricks or magic. England would wish he would stay in his dreams for eternity but eventually he would wake up.

On that particular night he woke up to the sound of the rain, the water falling heavier than before and threatened to flood his Sanctuary. Normally it didn’t bother him but for some reason he was now wide awake. He had fond memories of the rain. As he stared out into the darkness something caught his eye.

A red rose.

Ever since Rome brought them here they began flourish in the countryside. Though Rome had offered them his mother many times despite all the rejections, she could not deny that she thought the rose was a beautiful flower and soon it became her favourite.

Ignoring the heavy rain England wandered out into the dark and reached for it. He pulled his hand away when the thorns pricked him. He was about to cry again when Rome’s words flooded into his head.

“You’re a son of Britannia, remember that. Your time will come.”

Once again England reached for the rose. The thorns pricked him but he ignored it. As he grasped the stem the thorns stabbed his soft hands, blood now flowing down his wrist but he did not cry. He pulled the flower from the ground and stared at it, the petals were the same colour as his blood.

He then looked out beyond the rain and something out there was calling out to him. It sounded like it had been calling out to him for some time but only now did he hear it.

His innocent green eyes were now filled with a dark determination and he walked through the rain to where his people were waiting for him.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Romans abandon Britain - the Roman Empire abandoned Britain as rebellions and civil wars were causing the empire to fall apart, they officially lost the country around the mid 6th century.
> 
> The Vikings - England were invaded by the Vikings and fell to them, and they tried to conquer Scotland and Ireland but were repelled.
> 
> The birth of England - Æthelstan was the first King of England. He inherited the kingdoms of Wessex and Mercia from his father and then conquered the Viking Kingdom of York in 927, uniting England under one crown.


	6. Chapter Five

Chapter Five

1277 AD

Although Wales was considered the gentle one by his older brothers, he could be quite fierce when he needed to be. It took him nearly 1000 years before he finally created a country that loved and admired by its people. The Princes who ruled it helped create a beautiful land and form a proud culture and Wales himself could not be more proud than what had been accomplished. He had his hardships but he pulled through, mastering the bow perfecting his songs. If only his mother could see him now.

Nearly three hundred years passed and during that time Wales had heard some news that pleased him, news that he wanted to share with his older brothers. He wasted no time in heading north, deep into the highlands to seek out his brothers. He had sent word out to them and they responded positively, even though that they agreed many years ago that they had to stand alone to become strong.

Walking through fields of lavender he spotted a figure he hadn’t seen in ages.

“Oi Scotland,” he called out.

Scotland had grown since he last saw him. He was almost as tall as their mother was and the muscles he had made Wales slightly envious. His hair was still a mess but it gave him a rugged look that Wales also admired. 

“You’re as big as a bloomin’ mountain,” laughed Wales as he happily embraced his brother.

Scotland seemed a little put off by the hug but he did pat Wales on the head. “Well at least ah don’t look like a overdressed nitwit,” snorted Scotland.

Compared to Scotland, Wales was indeed much more presentable and his light brown hair was neat and tidy. “I just hope Ireland has a better taste in fashion than you.”

“Nah chance o’ that I’m afraid,” came a voice.

Wales looked over his shoulder and saw his other older brother, Ireland. Just like Scotland he wore a simple tunic and cloak, and still bore that scowl he had since he was a child. He wasn’t as tall as Scotland but he was close in height. Wales could not help but feel intimidated for even though he had grown strong he was still quite short.

“How’s the emerald island?” asked Wales with a grin.

“Doin’ just fine,” replied Ireland. It seemed that his personality had become more stoic since he last saw him.

“Alright Wales, why’d ye call us out?” demanded Scotland, “yer’er looking fur a fight?”

“No, no,” insisted Wales, shaking his hands furiously, “it’s just there is something I want to discuss.”

“Alight,” sighed Scotland, falling down to sit upon the soft Earth, Ireland doing the same whilst pulling out a pipe. “Whit is it?”

Wales sat down near them and inhaled the sweet air. “I know you two have heard,” he said, “but England has gotten stronger.”

The two brothers tensed a little upon hearing their younger brother’s name. They hadn’t spoke to him since they cast him aside.

“So whit if he has,” scoffed Scotland, “he’s still weak compared tae the rest of us.”

“I know, I know,” sighed Wales, “but the reason we split apart was to become strong and for him to become strong remember?” He looked directly at Scotland. “You said that we had to abandon him, it was the only way he would grow and become strong.”

“Ah did,” replied Scotland, “and he has, whit of it?”

Wales fidgeted a little. “We’re all strong countries now, and I was hoping we could... you know... get back together? Become allies?”

“Ye do realise he’s been picking fights with that bloody France, right?” Scotland ran his hands through the flowers around him. 

“All the more reason,” insisted Wales.

“No,” said Scotland firmly, “he can fight his own battles. If he loses then it’s his problem. I’m not going to get involved in his petty brawls with that foppish long haired tosser.”

Wales stood up and clenched his fists. “Why?” He said with anger. “It was your idea! You said it would help him! We were all weak back then but now we’re all strong.” Wales looked like he was about to cry. “I just wanted to get things back to the way they used to be.”

As the short country wept in frustration, Ireland stood up and patted his back. “Ye were alway the gentle one,” he muttered, “gentle but strong.”

“Things are different now,” sighed Scotland, “it wasn’t the same like it was a thousand years ago.”

“But we’re still brothers,” barked Wales, pushing himself away from Ireland, “we should at least try to contact him. He’s been alone for so long.”

“So have we,” retorted Scotland. His response seemed to had angered Wales even further.

For a while there was silence between them. Scotland knew how sensitive Wales was and it was something he detested, but he admired Wales strength and his country was a good one. 

“So ye want a banquet or something?” huffed Scotland.

“No, I mean-... maybe? No, just like a private dinner or something?” Wales suddenly seemed excited. He looked over to Ireland. “You think so too right?”

“Ah don’t mind,” replied Ireland.

“Excellent,” exclaimed Wales, “then I’ll make arrangements!” Wales then pulled both his brothers into a hug, with Ireland slowly responding to it whilst Scotland accepted it with noticeable disgust.

They spoke a little more before Wales decided to return to his country with plans to contact England. He got both Scotland and Ireland to promise that they would come and to bring a gift or something, to which they both agreed if not to please their little brother. Both Ireland and Scotland watched him as he ran back home, the short country grinning from ear to ear.

“And ma called me a softie,” scoffed Scotland as he folded his arms.

“I’m lookin’ forward to it,” said Ireland.

“Are yer now,” sighed Scotland.

“It’s been a long time and I missed those days too,” replied Ireland. He patted Scotland on the shoulder before departing. “I’ll see ye at the dinner party,” he called out.

Scotland huffed and rolled his eyes. “Dinner party? Whit a load of bollocks.” Though he was not looking forward to sitting at a table and eating fancy food with knives and forks, there was a small if not faint glimmer of eagerness that flickered within his heart at the thought of seeing all of his brothers once again.

——————

The moment Wales returned home he started writing up a to do list. He was going to have to hunt for some meat, order some alcohol, find a suitable place to hold the private dinner. He could barely contain his excitement. At long last all four brothers would be under one roof and things should go back to the way it used to be.

“I wonder how tall he’s gotten,” pondered Wales, smirking at the thought that England might have grown a few inches since he last saw him.

He sighed as he thought back to those days where he had to completely shut England out. He cried himself to sleep after ignoring England’s cries for help and hated himself for refusing to aid him. The guilt had nearly destroyed him but he kept telling himself that it was the only way. England had to become strong and it was the only way.

Well now no longer. England could now stand on his own two feet and it was time to reunite the brothers. “Ma would be so happy if she was here,” chuckled Wales as he lounged upon his chair, imaging what happy reunion would he like.

He was knocked out of his day dreaming when someone starting slamming fists against his door. “My country! My country!”

Wales got up and opened the door, a young messenger barging in with a face full of panic. “My country,” he gasped as he tried to catch his breath, “we’re being invaded!”

“W-what?” Wales was completely stunned. Who would dare attack him? “Who dares invade my land,” barked Wales, instantly switching on his war instincts. He soon wished, however, that he never asked as the messenger named his invader.

“England is invading us.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Wales invaded - Under the rule of King Edward I England invaded Wales in 1277 and in six years the kingdom of Wales was annexed and lost their independence.


	7. Chapter Six

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Warning: some violence in this chapter.

Chapter Six

1283 AD

Barely able to stand, Wales held onto a nearby wall for support. His armour was dented, his sword was now dull and he was almost out of arrows. His country had almost been completely taken over and though he had held out as best he could, he soon realised that he was not going to win.

He didn’t dare call for Scotland or Ireland for aid, though he had hoped that they would have come of their own free will. Still he was thankful that they never came... he didn’t want either of them to see who he was fighting against.

“My country,” cried out a nearby soldier, “our last stronghold is barely holding out! The Prince won’t stand a chance against those English hounds!”

Wales could feel it in his blood, his country was on the verge of losing and his strength was getting sapped away with every passing second. Though the odds were clearly against him, Wales refused to give up. He was the living incarnation of this country’s heart and soul, and he wasn’t going to lay down his sword anytime soon. He just had to hold out a little longer and pray for a miracle.

“Do not lose faith,” proclaimed Wales, “we have fought off worse! Believe in your Prince and believe in the Kingdom of Wales!”

It seemed to had stirred some hope in the soldier but barely, he was already dashing off to rejoin the fight. Wales waited till he was gone before hobbling after him, the sounds of battlecries and metal against metal was all he could hear. He could feel the blood of his countrymen as they were slain by their invaders, and it was enough to bring tears to his eyes.

“Why... why the hell is he doing this!?”

Was it revenge? Was he doing this because they abandoned him and left him at the mercy of invaders? It was cruel but it had to be done, he was so pitifully weak and the only way for him to grow was to isolate him. They all separated, Ireland, Scotland and himself barely saw each other as they grew up, they all felt the pain of loneliness but used it to strengthen their resolve to become strong.

Was this punishment?

Before Wales could even make it to the battlefield to join his men, he noticed something move out of the corner of his eye. He raised his sword just in time as a sharp blade almost cut him down. He grimaced as he desperately held his ground but his arm was trembling from the strain. He looked into the eyes of his attacker and gasped out loud.

“Hello brother.”

Wales pushed himself back to get some space and to get away from his attacker. He raised his sword and shield in defence but it did not hide the shock in his eyes.

He recalled how those adorable green eyes looked up at him in awe as he demonstrated his magic tricks and skill with the bow, but now they stared down at him, the bright green now replaced with a twisted glow of spite.

“What’s the matter Wales? All of your Princes boasted of your might and now most of them are dead... not all by my hand by the way, one of the fell out of my tower whilst trying to escape.”

Wales bared his teeth in anger. “How dare you invade my lands! This is my kingdom!” He raised his sword yet again and pointed it at his foe. “I’ll destroy anyone who invades my people and that includes you, England!”

The once small and weak England had grown into a tall man, not as tall as Ireland and Scotland but he still towered over Wales. He looked exactly as he did as a child only now the innocence was gone and it’s place was a malice that had festered within his soul for centuries, now being unleashed upon Wales and his people. His armour still shimmered despite of all the fighting and his sword was still as sharp as it was the moment it was forged. These were signs that he was winning and even Wales knew he could not stand up against him.

“Want to hear an interesting story Wales?” asked England, smiling in a disturbing way, “the people in my land came up with a rather interesting legend. A legend of a knight who fought a dragon. My flag was made in honour of that legend... and your flag... well, most of your flags, are mostly dragons.” England took another step forward, his eyes now filled with a dangerous glow. “Almost ironic, isn’t it?”

Wales barely had time to react and raised his shield just as England brought down his sword. His invader struck him with such force, Wales could hear the wood in his shield splinter apart. Wales struck back, but England was too fast. With every swing of his sword, England either dodged or countered them with ease. With every swing of England’s blade, Wales barely missed and ended up getting cut a few times.

Their fight continued until England literally backed Wales into a corner. “Looks like I won,” declared England, who seemed disappointed. “This was far too easy.”

“I’m still standing England,” barked Wales, struggling to push himself up, “you haven’t won yet!”

With desperation and determination, Wales charged forward. England didn’t even seem to register the oncoming threat. With a grin he casually dodged the attack and smashed his fist into Wales face, the impact caused Wales to fly across the air and smash against a wall.

Choking on blood that had made it’s way into his throat, Wales desperately tried to get back up but England had already made his way over to him, his sword raised and ready. Before he could realise what was happening, England buried his sword into Wales arm, pinning him against the ground. Wales cried out in agony, his bloodcurdling screams echoing through the air as England cruelly twisted the sharp blade deep within his wound.

And then he was on top of him, delivering blow after blow across his face. Wales choked and gagged as each punch knocked out a tooth and shatter his jaw bone. He tried to swat England away with his free hand but he had completely lost his strength. 

After what felt like hours England halted his assault, grabbing a fistful of Wales’ hair and forcing him to face him. Wales could barely see his brother’s face but he could see that vicious smile. “It’s over now Wales,” declares England, pulling his sword out of his brother, the action causing the beaten country to wince.

England then stood back up and grabbed Wales by the collar of his armour, slowly dragging him away. Barely conscious Wales could hear England addressing one of his soldiers.

“Go tell our King; Wales is ours.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The Princes Of Wales - Before England invaded Wales was ruled by a Principality. It continued for a while but eventually the title Prince of Wales was integrated into the English monarchy and was given to the heirs of the throne.
> 
> St George and the Dragon - The English flag is the flag of St George, the patron Staint on England, who killed a dragon to save a maiden. This legend has nothing to do with England conquering Wales.


	8. Chapter Seven

Chapter Seven

1295 AD

Scotland paced back and forth, his footsteps echoing through the stone halls. As if he didn’t have enough problems, now this was happening. In all his life he could not comprehend what was transpiring in these lands. One moment everything was fine, with the odd problem or two, but after England conquered Wales a few years back everything had changed.

Now Ireland was having his own issues with England, who was claiming territory in his land and with each year that passed. Ireland’s people were being pushed back as England claimed more, and now Ireland was now busy trying to push him out. Worst still Scotland had yet to hear from Wales, whom England had mercifully kept alive.

“How the bleedin’ hell did he get so ambitious?” 

It was a question he had yet to find an answer to. He and his brothers abandoned England so that he would grow strong. Apparently it worked but now he was going around conquering kingdoms, including his own brothers. He knew he was next, Ireland had warned him. It wasn’t that he was afraid, he’d fight anyone who dared threaten his people. It was just he couldn’t understand why... why was England trying to conquer them? Was it revenge? It seemed like the logical answer.

As he pondered over this, a servant approached him with a message. “My country, ye ‘ave a guest.”

At first Scotland thought it was England, coming to taunt him or something, or hopefully it was either Wales or Ireland with some good news. He made his way to the chamber where his guest awaited him, and a sickly sweet stench filled his nostrils. He rolled his eyes, knowing full well who was here to meet him.

As he opened the door he found his guest sitting upon a chair with an almost sly smile. “Bonjour mon ami, it is good to see you, qui?”

“Whit the hell are ye doin’ here, France?” sneered Scotland.

Scotland didn’t particularly like France, not because he was constantly fighting and taunting his little brother, he just couldn’t stand the way he dressed. He was far too fancy looking, and his perfume made him want to vomit.

“I mean no offence,” insisted France, running his hand through his own long golden hair, “I just thought you and I can have a little talk?”

“About what?” Scotland folded his arms. “Ah’m not in the mood ta hear about yer prissy fashion sense.”

France sighed. “I’m actually here to talk about a little problem that you and I are dealing with right now... well, I know you’re going to be dealing with him soon.”

Scotland lowered his arms. “Ye mean England?”

“Qui, he has been causing problems in my country for years and now he’s looking to other countries to mess with,” explained France, taking out a napkin to wipe his own brow, “I can’t have that and I know you don’t want that.”

Scotland seemed taken aback by this. “Whit do ye mean other countries? Ye mean he’s not just fighting you?”

“Well not exactly fighting, but he’s making my friends down south a little... anxious.” France seemed anxious himself. “I’ve got issues in my own country right now, and I... we can’t let that bastard brother of yours get any stronger. That’s why I’m here.”

“Ah figured ye didn’t come all this way to talk,” scoffed Scotland, “so whit do ye want?”

“An alliance,” stated France, his blue eyes filled with determination.

Scotland stood there dumbfounded by the request. “Ye want... a what?”

France sighed and repeated himself, “I want an alliance with you Scotland.”

The chamber was filled with silence and France could not help but feel a little uncomfortable with the way Scotland was glaring at him. “Ye think ah need yer help!? Ye think ah can’t handle him by mae self!?”

France shook his head, “non, non, I don’t think that-“

“Because ah don’t need any help from anyone-“

“YES you do!”

France stood up and dared to glare back at Scotland. “Your people are in need of one! Your Queen is dead and England’s king is ready to assert himself as ruler of your land! He’s going to take your land right from under your nose!”

Scotland bit his own lip and clenched his fists until they trembled. It was true. With the death of their seven year old Queen Margaret, the Council of Twelve had assumed control of Scotland and were now looking for aid from other countries before England could take over. It made him sick that he had to seek aid, but his people were starting fear an invasion from England. 

“I know your brothers have this thing about personal pride,” continued France, speaking with a calmer tone, “but you’ve been living on these islands for so long, I fear you don’t know how the workd now works. Forging alliances will aid you, will make you stronger, and right now England is invading me and he’s going to invade you.” France dared to take another step closer. “Let us help each other? What do you say?”

Scotland still felt off about this, but after what happened to Wales he didn’t want to see this land of his fall into England’s hands.

“Fine,” he said.

“Excellent mon ami,” exclaimed France, embracing Scotland and planting a kiss on both cheeks.

“Git off!” Scotland pushed France away. “Just make sure ye git ma back.”

“And I’ll have your back,” promised France. “I won’t lie, I can’t wait to see England’s face when I tell him I’ve teamed up with you!” France giggled at the thought. “He’s going to be so mad!”

Scotland sighed and stared out the nearby window. “Ah just hope this works.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The Auld Alliance - it was actually Scotland who sought out alliances after the death of the seven year old Queen Margaret. With both France and Scotland fearing invasion from England, they formed the Auld Alliance. Unfortunately the alliance favoured more to France.
> 
> Queen Margaret - After the death of King Alexander, the crown of Scotland was to be handed down to his seven year old granddaughter, who was in Norway at the time. Sadly she died on the trip over, leaving the Scottish throne empty and left in the power of the council of 12.


	9. Chapter Eight

Chapter Eight

1295 AD

“He did... what?”

Wales clenched his hands upon his knees, trying hard not to show any sense of dread after hearing the news of Scotland’s arrangement with France. Even the messenger could not help but tremble as England stared at him with those dangerous eyes.

“As I have stated, my Country, your brother Scotland has formed an Alliance with France.” The messenger bowed and hoped he would be allowed to leave.

“Is the King aware?” demanded England.

“Another messenger has informed him, my country,” replied the messenger.

England then motioned his hand to send the messenger away, leaving him alone with Wales. There was a dreadful silence between them and Wales could only fear at what England would do. Ever since England beaten him and annexed his country, Wales had oddly enough been allowed free reign, except that he was expected to obey and be loyal to England no matter what.

After he awoke from his injuries he found himself alive and in England’s care. England had actually nursed him back to health and Wales had hoped it was because he did it out of love... only it wasn’t. England only kept him alive so he could torment him, gloating to him how easy it was to conquer him, how his Princes were executed or imprisoned, and how he gave his lands to English nobles, how his people were treated like filth. Wales had become nothing more than a living example of England’s terror.

Even when he returned to his country, he couldn’t shake free of this terrible feeling England had cast over him. He tried to support his countrymen but they too had to submit to English rule and they were miserable. Ireland immediately came to visit him the first night he returned to his land and Wales ended up crying into Ireland’s shoulder. He was horrified to learn that Ireland was also struggling with England, who was slowly but surely invading his own land. He assured Ireland he’d be alright under England’s control and begged him to be careful.

Ireland vowed that once he pushed England out and off of his island, he’d help liberate Wales, even if it went against everything they believed. Ireland confessed that he had always believed that splitting up and abandoning England was a mistake, but was too cowardly to admit it. He left Wales with some hope, but that hope didn’t seem to help lift in spirits when in England’s company.

On this particular day he was invited by England for a meal and Wales couldn’t refuse even if he wanted to. During these hours spent with England, Wales could only try and be civil, trying to engage England with polite conversation, but England never spoke back. He just stared at Wales like he was a thing, a pitiful little creature who was only there for his amusement.

“That frog is probably going to gloat about this,” huffed England suddenly. “I can picture that stupid beard covered face of his, laughing like the twat he is.”

Wales glanced over, neither happy or upset that England had broken his silence. “I’m certain it was France who pleaded with him for an alliance, I mean Scotland would never-“

England slammed his fist upon the table, silencing Wales. “Do you think I’m stupid?” he spat, “Scotland has no heir to his throne, he knows I’m going to come and invade. The only thing that this alliance has shown me is how desperate he is... how weak he is.” England then flashed a wicked grin. “Aren’t you lonely Wales?”

“W-what?” Wales eyes widened with fear.

“Ireland is still giving me trouble, but he’ll loose eventually,” cackled England, rising from where he sat and making his way over to Wales. “Scotland is vulnerable right now. I’m certain you’d love to have him here with us?”

Wales shook his head. “E-England, you can’t,” he begged.

“Why not?” asked England, standing before Wales and placing his hands upon his shoulders. “I told you before Wales, I want us all to be together again. We’re going to be one big happy family again.” England smiled down at him but there was no love in that smile, just twisted affection. “Don’t you want that too?”

“Not like this,” sobbed Wales, “not like this.”

“Too bad,” giggled England, and lance his way to exit the chamber, “now be a good big brother and get your soldiers ready. I’ve got an invasion to plan!”

As England left Wales on his own, the conquered country broke down in tears. “What have we done?”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Welsh Archers - I can’t remember which battle but it was having Welsh Archers in their army that assisted England in winning against Scotland.


	10. Chapter Nine

Chapter Nine

1296 AD

Scotland stared down at his own blade, making certain that it was as sharp as the chill in the air, ready to cut down anyone who’d dare attack him. Still he never would’ve imagined that he’d be using it against his own blood. He gazed around at his countrymen, young men, experienced men, all ready to fight and defend their home. The moment he heard that England was on his way with an army, all he could do was ready his own army to fight back.

“So much fur France an’ his bloody alliance,” he scoffed, noticing that France had not supplied any French soldiers to aid them. “Ah knew helping that long haired twat was bad news.”

He imagined that fancy backstabber would throw any excuse at him. Either he was busy fighting someone else or that he didn’t know what to wear for the fight. Well it didn’t matter. Scotland didn’t need anyone’s help, he was the strongest of the four brothers. He fought the Saxons and the Vikings and if he could fight them then he could fight England.

“My Country,” cried out a soldier, “England’s armies are almost upon us.”

Scotland sighed. “So it’s all come down tae this,” he murmured. He looked back at the young soldier. “Go an’ git ready,” he ordered.

As they soldier took off, Scotland took one final moment to appreciate the calmness of his country, looking out to the beautiful blue mountains and highlands and vowed to protect them and his people from the tyranny of England. He then made his way to the frontlines and awaited the English invaders.

As the sun rose higher and higher, Scotland could feel the sensation of foreign footsteps marching across his land. He could feel thousands of them but those numbers did not fill him with fear, but with anticipation.

He had heard from Ireland what England had been doing to Wales, and Scotland vowed that he was going to beat England black and blue for what he had done. However Ireland pleaded with him to try and resolve this peacefully, as hurting England would also hurt Wales. Scotland refused, telling his brother that it was too late. England was coming to do to him what he had done to Wales, and he had to face him.

It wasn’t long until at last they spotted the English troops marching towards.

Their numbers were impressive and made some of his men quiver in their boots, but they all stood firm, determined to defend their home. Scotland merely glared at them, his eyes scanning the invaders. Their armour shimmered in the sunlight, their weapons ready to draw blood, their mounts powerful and strong.

As he stood there whilst the English continued to advance, Scotland’s mind began to unexpectedly wander back into his memories. Far back into his memories, before he knew what war was and the only thing he cared about was his family.

He remembered how his mother would sing him and his brothers to sleep.

How he and Ireland would arm wrestle to prove who was the strongest.

How Wales would ask him to help prep his bow for a hunt.

How England’s eyes would glow in awe after he did something to impress him.

_“Wow Scotland! You’re so strong! Will I be as strong as you one day?”_

Scotland forced his mind back to the present. Those days were gone. His mother was dead. Ireland no longer cared for their petty pissing contests. Wales no longer needed help setting up his bows. And England...

He stared across the field and his eyes met with a pair he had not seen in years, only now they weren’t looking at him with awe. They were looking at him with malice.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The Battle of Dunbar - In 1296 English forces invaded Scotland and with careful strategy and cunning tricks, the English beat the Scottish army.


	11. Chapter Ten

Chapter Ten

1296 AD

Scotland opened his eyes, staring up at the blue sky through the branches of the trees. The distant sound of giggles and squeals of delight made him sit up, and he looked out onto a field that was filled with flowers. Within the field he spotted three children chasing each other, laughing and playing beneath the sunlight.

They looked familiar and as Scotland stood up to approach them, he heard someone call out to him.

“Scotland? Where are ye?”

Scotland turned in the direction of where the voice was coming from, his eyes widening when he saw who it was.

“Mother?”

It couldn’t be. There was no way it could be her, but as Scotland continued to stare at the woman he could deny who she was. Everything about was just how he remembered. Her smile, her scent, and the way her blue eyes seemed to weave a calming spell around him. He wanted to run to her but he couldn’t move his legs. He felt trapped and he didn’t know why.

“Scotland,” called his mother again, “why did ye break yer promise?”

“What?” Scotland tried to move again but his legs refused to obey. “Ma, what are ye on about?”

His mother now seemed sad and pointed across the field. “Ah told ye to watch over yer brothers. Ye promised me Scotland.”

Scotland looked in the direction of his mother’s outstretched hand and saw the three children from earlier, still playing their games and completely oblivious to a stranger who was now approaching them. Scotland couldn’t quite make out who the stranger was but he realised that the stranger was holding a sword.

“Git away from them,” he barked, now able to move and he sprinted towards them.

As the stranger raised his sword to strike down at the children, Scotland lunged at him and tackled him to the ground. Before he could even look at who it was, Scotland began pummelling him with punches, feeling the bones crack in his knuckles with each blow and the blood that splattered across his face.

“Stop it!”

Scotland halted his assault and looked over his shoulder to see the three children staring at him in horror. It was then that Scotland recognised them... it was Wales and Ireland and... himself? They all stared at him with eyes full of fear.

“Why are you hurting our brother?” 

Scotland looked down at the stranger he had been attacking and found himself staring down at the limp form of another child, but not just any child... it was his little brother, England. Scotland jumped off and fell backwards as he stared in horror at what he had done. The body of England then moved and those green eyes looked up at him, full of pain and tears.

“Why did you leave me Scotland?”

———————

Scotland sat up with a hoarse gasp and breathed rapidly to try and calm his erratic heart down. The nightmare was still fresh in his mind and he didn’t realise that he was back in reality until a voice he knew called out to him.

“It’s alright Scotland, it’s ok.”

Scotland looked around until he saw a face, looking at him with worry.

“Wales?”

His eyes focused until he finally saw his younger brother’s face clearly. Wales smiled gently and patted his shoulder to reassure him. “You’re safe now, it’s ok.”

Scotland relaxed against the pillows and looked around. He was in a fancy looking room, long tapestries decorating the walls, wooden furniture placed neatly near a roaring fireplace, and there was even some expensive looking fruit in a nearby bowl. He then looked down at himself and found that his body was covered in bandages and wrappings. Some of the blood had seeped through some of them but not a huge amount. Nearby he spied a pile of used wrappings completely drenched in blood.

What happened? Where was he? He tried to recall what happened but his mind was still foggy and none of his memories were clear enough.

“Scotland, what can you remember?” asked Wales, wringing out a damp cloth and patting it against his older brother’s brow.

Scotland tried to think. “Ah was... ah was in a battle?”

Wales nodded with a bitter smile. “With England... remember?”

It hit him like a pile of stones. He remembered what happened. The battle... he and his countrymen fighting with all their might... the English soldiers using tricks... his brother coming at him with a drawn sword... they fought... the blood... those green eyes full of a deep and untameable rage... and sadness... and then the world went black.

“You do recall what happened?” asked Wales.

Scotland swallowed the lump that had formed in his throat. He did remember, he remembered exactly what had happened....

He lost.

Before he could even ask Wales what had transpired whilst he was unconscious, the door to the chamber suddenly opened and someone entered. Scotland looked up from his bed to see the same person he faced on the battlefield.

“England,” he growled.

“Hello brother,” chuckled England, walking over to the bed, “did you rest well?”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The Stone Of Destiny - known as the Stone Of Scone or the Coronation Stone, it was used in ceromonies for crowning Scottish monarchs, until it was taken by King Edward I to Westminster after the Battle Of Dunbar. It was then used for the crowning of English Monarchs, placed within a chair known as Edward’s chair that members of the royal family sit upon during their coronation ceremony. Scotland did not get the stone back until 1996.


End file.
